Hairdye, Hell and Homemade stakes
by False1
Summary: Yeah, it's another of those five things that didn't happen fics, this time about Justine. No don't go away! They're all short and she dies in two of them and (fades into incoherent pleading). Please R&R.
1. Mirror, Mirror

Disclaimer: Really not mine.

AN: Technically something that didn't happen to Julia, or so we assume. BTW, sorry it's been so long, my Internet got shut off. Again. Yes, it does happen quite a lot.

She was drunk and she knew it, and she knew that getting drunk was not a good way of coping. Right then, she didn't really care. She dug in her purse for her flat keys, and had just pulled them out when she heard a strangely familiar laugh behind her. She spun around, finding nothing there, and turned back to the door. Her twin sister Julia was standing in front of it. Her _dead_ sister Julia, smiling that same happy smile with the same carefree attitude that had always made sure no one had ever mistaken one for the other. Her hair was black, and there were dark splotches on her neck. At the funeral it had been blonde. 

Her sister's face changed, compressed, grew ridges above her brow and her eyes changed to yellow. A sickly colour that reminded her of vomit crusted on the sidewalk. The corruption of her sister's face drove up her hand holding the saw-edged key and towards the thing's eye. A black-clad blur ending in pale flesh swept up and across, caught her wrist, and spun her around to slam her into her door in one motion.

"Sorry I don't look to good sis," the creature said in that too-familiar voice, "but it's a little hard, the way I am now." 

Justine's fist was barely noticed, clumsy and from a bad angle, but she grabbed her other wrist and slammed it back too. 

"But don't worry. That won't be a problem for much longer."

 She opened her mouth wide and bit in deep. The first few kills are always messy, and blood spurted and splattered onto the wall, dyeing it a purer red than any hair colour.

Two weeks later Daniel Holtz read the obituary of Julia Cooper, looked a little deeper, and moved on. Small loss. There must be hundreds of other souls in this godforsaken place that could serve his purpose just as well.


	2. Waiting for Judgement

AN: The style may be a little weird. I'm still looking for the one which suits me best. So there's a special review plea beyond the customary one, for advice on specific styles.

She had hated Utah. They had been incredibly lucky to stay there for so long before they had to run, but still, she had hated Utah. She had never thought of herself as a real city girl, but out there, surrounded on all sides by what her vocabulary could only describe as _hicks_, she had hated it. Six years. Enough time for Stephen to grow to be mocked for his delicacy, and to break a classmate's arm with a twist that came as naturally as breathing. Enough time for her to wish she'd never heard of the Mormon religion. Enough time for her to convince herself that Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had survived. 

They came at night, and pure chance let them get away. A neighbouring ranch had called and told them four strange people had stopped and asked for directions. She had decided, hoped, that one had been left in the car. They arrived as they finished putting into the jeep the bags Daniel had always kept in readiness. The demon, Cordelia, had glowed like a fluorescent light, changing night to day and hovering at head height. Stephen never even looked at her. His gaze fixed on Angel immediately, and his on him. His voice, a breathless whisper from his usual unbroken clarity sounded so softly she could barely hear.

"Who is that?" She had the sense they would not look away, could not look away, would be found like that in a hundred years time still staring-

Daniel lifted him bodily into the jeep and clambered into the back as Angelus cried out wordlessly and ran forwards. She. yes. Stepped on it. No other word, a hundred movies aside, and sped off.

Utah ranch vampires. Rare. Old and powerful and rich, and fat and lazy. Red sky at night, child-stealer's delight. Money to take them wherever in the world they fancied. Why he chose China, she wasn't entirely sure. It might have been something to do with a land no man could search, given decades to try. The city this time. 

But first him, not undead but dead walking, scar on his throat and a shotgun in his hand, in the alley. She would have let him shoot her; he would have shot her in an instant. But Stephen was standing in front, and sawn-off shotguns are not famed for their precision, and they walked away. The thought had never formed, when she racked her brain for a reason for survival, it had never occurred. Alive, outcast. No murderess. Kidnapper, thief traitor Judas thirty pieces of silver for the child beaten into pale child form and set to walk and shout and play.

Outside, in another language, but children are the same everywhere. She wondered whether there was a country in the world where they didn't play tag. It would be time for lunch soon. He wouldn't want to come in. He would be winning. Always does. She knows it isn't good to always win, or when it counts you lose. Daniel will deal with it soon. A few more weeks, months, a year. He doesn't have to tarnish yet. 

She waits, a crossbow and a stake and a gun, and wonders whether if (_when_) the time comes there will be enough left of her to fight.


	3. Freedom of Indifference

She dropped the manacles and crouched down to snatch them up before one of the occasional pedestrians saw, though considering how she must look she wasn't sure why she bothered. When she tried to stand back up she staggered, courtesy of three months in the hospitality of Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Price, failed Watcher and evil bastard extaordinare. When she looked up again he was there with that deceptive bland expression, and she wondered if he was going to kill her. His arm shot out suddenly, jerkily, and slowly his fingers turned so that he offered her his hand. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled herself up. She waited for him to speak, and then realised that he was waiting for her to do the same. She realised, suddenly, that she didn't care. Not just in the self-destructive, "I don't care if I live or die", kind of way, but how Angel felt about this, about Wesley and his lawyer and resentment, about Holtz's vengeance.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."

"Where do we go?" he asked. "Utah?" She wondered if he knew anything about what was in the world, instead of just who. Then she grinned as hard as she could, which she suspected just after made her look in pain at best, rather than the sickly-sweet cheerful she had wanted, and said,

"We're going to Disneyland," in a voice that fell short and ended up with her teeth gritted. He nodded. She knew that sooner or later he would want to know what had happened to Daniel, where they were going. And she couldn't answer either of those, not really. But he hadn't asked yet. She took a step, then stopped and tossed the handcuffs away from her. They fell near a street light, and glinted beneath it. She started walking and didn't look back, and Connor followed behind silently, but glanced back until they turned a corner.


End file.
